The Forest Again
by Captain Tea
Summary: A curious twist; what if the protagonist was not a perfect Gary Stu all too willing to give his life for everyone else? Everything changes.


**Hi! This.. I don't know. I was browsing r/writing, and I came upon a website called iwl (.net), and it allows you to paste in text and it tells you famous writers your style is similar too. Putting a Naruto fanfic I'm currently writing on gave Dan Brown, so I curiously opened my archive looking for something else. I found this, pasted it, it gave J.K Rowling, which is probably just because the names and whatnot. Oh well, I somewhat liked this; when I found it today it'd been long enough since I wrote it that I didn't remember anything, and I think it's fairly okay. Now it's here, and I hope I can have some feedback so I can shape it up and possibly continue it. Not that it needs to be continued, but we'll see.**

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><p>His emotions had been conflicted, but now they had settled. As he walked through the darkness of the forest, he continuously reminded himself of the alternative. It just wouldn't be worth it; he had no proof it would even work.<p>

No, death would not come for him this day. His cloak shuddered, pleased, and his snitch thrummed, confirming his suspicions.

"I am about to die," he breathed quietly, and it split in half, revealing to him the Stone of Resurrection. He grinned, and turned it in his hand, thrice; apparitions shimmered into existence around him, smiling, approving, not knowing.

He trudged on, stepping over roots and maneuvering around vines, closing in on his final destination. It was cold in the forest, being only May, but the cloak provided heat to it's master, obeying his every whim.

At last, he saw a shimmer of light in the distance, and acknowledged his loved ones, having walked with him in quiet, silently keeping the unearthly demons that was Dementors at bay. "I just wanted to say.. I'm sorry."

His mother, father, godfather, every one of them looked alarmed, but he tightened his grip around the stone that had brought them to _life, _and they faded away, leaving him alone. The cold of the undying guardians of Azkaban made it's presence known, but the Cloak was Death, no cheap imitation, and it protected it's wielder.

He passed the outposts, his stealth not broken for a moment. Then he reached the encampment, seeing his nemesis, the fiend that had ruined his life.

"I'd been certain that he'd come."

Voldemort lifted his head, his eyes shining in the light of the fire behind him, the floating snake forming a sinister halo above.

"I _expected _him to come."

The finality in the sentence rung out, and it settled heavily over them, the crowd, like a death sentence. Perhaps it was.

"It seems I was wrong."

The Elder Wand spun around, a burst of sparks scattering into the night. More than one spectator looked frightened.

"You were not."

He'd tried to speak clearly, and loudly, but if faltered under pressure, and he was lucky his voice didn't crack. Holding his arms in a stance as neutral as possible, he desperately attempted to look as non hostile as possible. He was not sure if he succeeded.

Chaos erupted then, shouting and yelling, laughing. Hagrid desperately fighting his restrains; he hoped his first friend wouldn't be around for what was to come. Then a Death Eater shouted, Rowle, he thought, and it quieted down again. Voldemort looked merely curious, his eyes for once not showing malice.

"Harry Potter."

He smiled, and the smile was ugly, it was a sneer. The Elder Wand glowed in anticipation of what was to come.

"The Boy Who Lived."

It was like vacuum, the silence of space; no-one breathed, no sounds were made. Large tears rolled from the black, beady eyes of the Keeper of Keys.

"Come to die."

The Elder Wand, and the hand that held it, raised, and in the eyes of the Dark Lord glee could be found, if one where to search deeply enough.

The incantation had barely begun, the faintest shimmer of green at the very tip, when Harry firmly replied;

"No."

Voldemort seemed to be balancing carefully on the edge, so very close to humorous laughter. The Deathstick was lowered, a bit, and the glow faded away.

"No? You intend to stroll in here, and walk away?"

Curious, a word well fit for the situation. Also, in the deep pools of red that was eyes, was hesitancy; _what is his game? what is he playing at?_

"No. But I would suggest further communication to take place in private. What I have to tell is not for the ears of your _followers._"

Bellatrix sneered, but the Dark Lord seemed interested. Even more so, when the Boy Who Lived carefully drew his wand, and dropped it to the ground. Most would say that Tom Riddle looked positively predatory.

"Yes? And what could you have to convey that would be worth extending your life further? Have I not spared you many times already?"

Harry was hard kept not to laugh at the obvious irony lacing the hissing voice; this was important, a matter of life and death, if he could allow himself to jest in this dire situation.

"Immortality."

One word that would surely catch the attention of the Dark Lord, while giving the crowd nothing. Hagrid, he noted, looked betrayed; had he not considered it was an intricate ploy to get Voldemort separated from his followers, an intricate assassination?

It was not, of course, but he had hoped his old friend would believe better off him.

"Very well. We shall continue this conversation in private, then."

With barely a flick, the holly and phoenix feather wand flew to a outstretched, pale hand, and black robes swirled with grace unknown to even Severus Snape, as the Dark Lord turned and started walking towards the darkness of the forest. Harry followed, no words needed for Voldemort's intentions to be bared.

Soon the light was but a memory, and Voldemort halted, lifting his wand; with a swish he erected wards so powerful Harry could hear them thrum; for a moment, he was afraid, but then he remembered his value to the Dark Wizard in front of him. He was most certain he would survive this night, and many nights to come.

"You wanted to talk of Immortality, boy? You've worked against my meticulous attempts for oh so long, whatever could you have to say to justify yourself, now?"

Harry frowned slightly; this was it, a misstep now would certainly lead to death. Victory in Death was not a concept he believed in.

"Your anchors to life have all been vanquished, Voldemort. Now only two remains. If you intend to survive the coming years, you would be best to keep them safe, and hidden, well protected. After all, you cannot make more; you've already gone to far."

Again the Dark Lord sneered, before adapting a confounded expression; his drawn lips clearly whispering two, quietly. Then he looked sharply at him, Harry, or rather his scar. The Dark Lord took a step closer, mesmerized.

"It can't be! Oh, but that makes so much sense. Dumbledore knew what he was doing all along... but then.."

Harry had never seen a sight so strange as Voldemort lost for words. It was certainly one thing he'd never imagined he would see; but it was certainly a more welcome sight than fury and killing curses.

Now came the hard part.

"In light of these new revelations, I propose a deal. I will leave Britain and go somewhere else, far away, and not interfere with your conquest or whatever it is your doing, and you will not pursue me. This seems to me like a fair deal that will benefit us both. I also feel compelled to inform you that there is a still a plot that _will _lead to your downfall in the gears; it's next step requiring my demise; killing me will not hinder it in the slightest."

The Dark Lord found the audacity to laugh, while casually twirling his wand, _Harry's _wand, The Elder Wand, in his spiderlike hand. The Holly wand was not to be seen.

"You believe, after a revelation such as this, that I will let you go, leave to god knows where, hide under ward after ward after ward? I am well aware of the consequences of a living horcrux," here he waved his free hand in the general direction of the floating snake, Nagini, the _other _Horcrux, before continuing; "It works both ways. I can't have you running off, hiding for centuries. No, I will spare you, but you will not leave the country. For that, you are much to valuable."

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><p>Harry was pleased. While he hadn't succeeded in escaping the whole mess, his plot had mostly succeeded. Now he found himself chained to a pole, wandless. Not that it mattered; the chain was highly magical and he wouldn't be able to break it anyway.<p>

Some distance away sat Hagrid, chained also, guarded by two robed and masked wizards; if he wasn't mistaken, only Bellatrix directly served the Dark Lord; there were other witches, probably, like Narcissa, but those had no mark, didn't fight, kill, maim and murder. Torture.

Allying himself with them felt wrong, but it was the only way. He didn't want to go; it was not time for him to die. Not now, not later. And he was immortal, or at least he should be; such was the effect of a living horcrux; one cannot die without the other.

Well, technically, both could be destroyed, and only the main host, Voldemort, could be resurrected from the ashes. If the container, Harry, was destroyed, so was the horcrux bond. It was tricky, but he didn't plan to go traipsing around danger anymore, so it didn't matter that much.

In the background he could hear screams, bangs and other loud noises, and the sky was constantly lit up by spellfire. Green, red, blue, it felt like New Year's Eve, as the night slowly turned to day and the sounds of war died down.

He expected most of his friends to be dead.

There'd been nothing to do, he ensured himself; even if he did sacrifice himself, Voldemort would still face no resistance; one horcrux would be more than sufficient when paired with such power and skill. And experience, can't forget the experience.

No, better with one survivor than zero, even if he probably would have problems with guilt, once the situation actually sunk it. As of now, it felt more like a dream, and Harry liked it that way. He hoped it would stay that way.

Harry felt less elated. A week had passed since the "Final Battle" that wasn't so final after all, and he'd been confined to a mansion since then.

Oh no, don't take it the wrong way, it was a great mansion, staffed with house-elves and having every luxury a proper mansion should have, but the airy halls and large windows felt strangely claustrophobic.

The Dark Lord wasn't very pleased, either, the battle having gone not as much so in his favor as he had expected, with the Savior turning cloak and everything that had happened.

Why continue the fight, when his target has been "eliminated"?

The answer to that was simple, and it was merely an example. Uprisings or rebellion would not be tolerated. Many good followers, as he said, had lost their lives, as not only did the _Light _fight with everything they had in a desperate final attempt, they also recruited the assistance of every ally for the final battle; house elves included.

If a House Elf's master is in danger, or threatened somehow, they could really dish out some damage; and the Hogwarts House Elves considered every student it's master.

Harry had been lucky, however, as Neville proved his worth and place in Gryffindor once and for all.

He had felt it when Nagini died, and he'd been elated; now his worth to the Dark Lord was higher than ever, being the very final horcrux.

Then, his glee disappeared as he was forcefully pulled into a vision, where he was a spectator behind red eyes as the Dark Lord brutally downed the Longbottom heir, before turning on the battle.

Harry was then the horrified witness of Bellatrix LeStrange dueling Molly Weasley, a woman he loved very much;

It seemed like the plump matriarch would end the wicked witch as she fired a horrid beam that passed Bellatrix's defences, but Voldemort interfered at that moment and repelled the beam, violently striking down a Ravenclaw student as it ricocheted around the hall.

Harsh red eyes glared, and Bellatrix immediately stopped playing, being the loyal follower she was, and ripped off her metaphorical gloves as she bombarded Molly with her full arsenal; the redhead barely lasted a second before some organ exploding curse ripped her apart and blew her intestines across nearby duelers; the mad cackling of LeStrange echoing in the hall as she looked around for another target.

His vision had been turned, and Voldemort engaged McGonagall, Slughorn and Kingsley, knowing that the only Death Eater still standing was his Bella.

The teachers put up a valiant fight, but Voldemort's killing curse downed Kingsley, and Fiendfyre devoured Slughorn, and at this point McGonagall made a tactical retreat and apparated further away, leaving Voldemort the victor standing proudly above the two corpses.

"Bella! Cease your fire! It is time to offer them a chance to surrender. No more magical blood needs spilling on this day; Look, the dawn is red as it is!" And he pointed his hand, and the Elder Wand, to the rising sun, where the sky was indeed a crimson color reminiscent of blood; "Lay down your wands, and no more will die. Already to many have fallen."

The fighters looked dubious, and as one they lined they're wands on the Dark Lord, standing alone in the middle of the hall, Bellatrix a few meters off. His forces lay scattered around the hall, some dead. The ones that weren't would be punished for failure. Let them envy the fallen.

Voldemort let his glare sweep over the many witches and wizards, each and every one shivering as it passed over them.

"This is your last chance. If you do not surrender _now, _all of you will be punished accordingly."

Even from his viewpoint in a vision, Harry could feel the massive wave of magic that rolled through the hall as every voice shouted a spell, every wand lighting up in different colors; Voldemort raised his wand to the sky, and a shimmering orb of silver conjured itself around him; it was large enough to cover Bellatrix, as well.

Then the spells reached the midpoint, and a cacophony of sounds as music sounded, high and terrible, as each spell bounced off and hit it's casters; more than a few killing curses bounced back upon the mirror surface, every jinx and hex and curse ricocheting around the Hall like ping pong balls, the assembled army falling rapidly to it's own fire.

Then, in the quiet after, the Orb melted, and the Dark Lord stood victorious.

With a sweep, he tore every wand from every hand, and they all flew to his feet like dogs, a large wooden pile lying beneath him as he smiled, observing the chaos.

Many tried to escape, but few succeeded; they were wandless, and Voldemort casually strolled towards the doors of the ruined hall, calmly whipping his wand to and fro, killing the panicking army as they ran; not many escaped the Massacre of Hogwarts, but those that did would form the core of the Resistance, later.

As Voldemort stood in front of the Great Hall, the sun shone brilliantly, the floors of Hogwarts painted with the blood of the fallen. Behind the victorious Dark Lord stood the grand hourglasses holding the housepoints, and they were all broken but one; Slytherin stood, and it was filled with glittering emeralds that sparkled in the morning light.


End file.
